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Live by the Fates, Die by the Fates
Torches gleamed and flickered high on the towers of Chronia, the capital of Time. The moon had risen in a now-cobalt sky, lording it over a host of attendant stars. Its light also found out a figure clad in black, standing on the roof of a tower, surveying the area below keenly, he put a hand to his lips and whistled, a low but penetrating sound. In response, as he watched, first one, then three, then a dozen, and at last twenty men, most clad in black, some with blood-red, green or azure cowls or hats, all with swords and daggers at their belts, emerged from dark streets and archways. The gang of dangerous-looking creatures fanned out, a cocky assuredness in their movements. He looked down at the eager faces, pale in the moonlight, gazing up at him. He raised his fist above his head in a defiant salute. Black Figure: We stand together! He cries, as they too raised their fists, some drawing their weapons and brandishing them, and cheered: ‘Together!’ He quickly climbed, catlike, down the unfinished façade, and from it leapt, cloak flying, to land in a crouch, safely in their midst. They gathered round, expectantly. Black Figure: Silence, my friends! He held up a hand to arrest a last, lone shout. He smiled grimly. Black Figure: Do you know why I called you, my closest allies, here tonight? To ask your aid. For too long I have been silent while our enemy, you know who I mean, Timascus, has gone about subjecting us to the Fates. Normally I would not stoop to kicking such a mangy cur, but – He was interrupted as a large, jagged rock, hurled from an unknown direction, landed at his feet. A voice called. Timascus: Enough of your nonsense, Grullo. The Black Figure turned as one with his group in the direction of the voice. Already he knew who it belonged to. One of Grullo’s followers spoke up. Follower: An aged man comes to stop our fun? What do you plan to do, old man? Bore us to death with your tales of the old days? Fart at us? Timascus: Old men tend gardens or spent afternoons pondering in their studies, reading and thinking about those they had loved and lost: they don’t get involved in fights. Especially not when they are outnumbered by younger opponents. Grullo: We were just talking about you. And he bowed with exaggerated courtesy, while assuming a look of surprise. Grullo: But you must forgive me. We were not expecting you personally. I thought you always hired others to do your work. Timascus: Take yourself from here before I’m forced to thin your ranks further. You play a dangerous game Grullo: I assure you this is no game. Timascus: So be it. Grullo moved with the speed of a cobra. He shot up and kicked out, catching Timascus square in the chest. Surprised, Timascus staggered back as the other came forward, mouth set and fists swinging. He had a gleam in his eye, knowing he’d rocked Timascus, who dodged one flailing punch only to realize it was a feint as Grullo caught him across the jaw with his other fist. Timascus almost fell, tasting blood and cursing himself. He had underestimated his opponent. A novice mistake. Grullo was smaller and faster, and caught Timascus high on the bridge of his nose. The Time Lord stumbled, blinking away tears that split his vision. Sensing victory, Grullo came forward, throwing wild punches. Timascus stepped to the side, but Grullo went low and swept Timascus’s feet from beneath him, sending him crashing to the ground. Grullo spun and dropped, sinking his knee directly into the Timascus’ groin. He was gratified to hear an agonized bark in response, then stood, his shoulders rising and falling heavily as he collected himself. Timascus: What you plan is no less an illusion. To force men to follow you against their will. Grullo: Is it any less real than the Fates you follow now? Those craven gods who retreat from this world that men might slaughter one another in their names? They live among an illusion already. I’m simply giving them another. Timascus: Ah. Now logic has left you. In its place you embrace emotion. I am disappointed. I know you blame the Fates for your family’s death, but nothing can excuse the horrors you’ve committed... I have been was like a father to you, Grullo... You have betrayed my trust, and sullied the League. Grullo: You are weak, Timascus... a relic just like your precious League of Paradoxes... Timascus: Grullo. We can fix you. Grullo: Fix ME? I am the solution. A shrill shriek, unsuited to his grim expression, leaked out from the depths of his throat. Grullos posture crumbled as he stumbled over. An instant. Zubaaa!! A ray of dazzling light shot out from the staff the time lord propped up with that buzz unlike any sound he had heard before. It stabbed through the right side of Grullo’s chest without any resistance. The white light vaporized part of Grullo’s right ear. Grullo thrusts his hand and grabs Timascus’ shoulder. Timascus screams as Grullo lashes out, grabs him by the coat, draws him breathlessly closer, inch by inch, eyeball-to-eyeball, grinning his awful rictus grin. Softly: Grullo: What kind of Fates are they to will this? I resent their monopoly. Why should they alone have the final say? Timascus: What’s to be done then? Grullo: You will not follow me and I cannot compel you. Timascus: And you refuse to give up this evil scheme. Grullo: It seems, then, we are at an impasse. Grullo’s followers were shifting uncomfortably, talking among themselves, still in shock at the turn of events. Seeing Timascus bleed had cheered them and, encouraged, they came forward with more stabbing, stinging sorties. Timascus fought off three followers, picking up new wounds, bleeding profusely now, limping, out of breath. Fear was no longer his weapon. That advantage was lost to him. All he had now were long-dormant skills and instincts, and he cast his mind back to some of his greatest battles. The warrior who had fought those battles would have sliced these followers dead in seconds. But that warrior lived in the past. He had aged. His combat skills, great as they were, had been allowed to wither and, so it seemed, die. He felt blood in his boots. His hands were slick with it. He was swinging wildly with his staff, not so much defending as trying to swat his attackers away. A chase between Timascus and Grullo ensues. Grullo: Run all you like, Timascus. I will catch you... I need only follow your scent...the scent of a wounded animal... There is nowhere you can hide from me. Grullo manages to pin Timascus down before he is able to get too far. He knocks him out, ending the fight. The following day, Fred is making his way to the main tower on Chronia. The area lay almost deserted. He looked around him, at the towers overlooking them, seeing black windows. Time Sentinels on the ramparts, massive bodies entirely clad in purple crystalline armor, and wearing mirror masks, so their faces could not be seen, stared dispassionately down at him. Fred’s mood darkened further as he was about to make his way to the main tower but Deck directed him instead to the steps that led up to the defence room, then into the main hall. There, the League of Paradoxes was gathered. Ten professors were seated on opposite sides of a table with an empty chair for Fred: a wooden, high-backed chair. Fred looked around the rest of the table. Paradox #1: Welcome Fred. Fred: Professor Paradox. Why exactly have you had me summoned here? Paradox #1: The T.C.T.F. and I have been hunting Grullo ’round the clock for months now, and we’ve nothing to show for it... Fred: What has Grullo to do with me? Timascus has had me summoned here from Hathor--can’t this wait? Paradox #1: Timascus is nowhere to be found. Fred: And you believe this is no coincidence. You think Timascus is dead. Paradox #1: I dare not believe it. But if he is, you may be the only person who can stop Grullo now. Fred: Where do I find him? Deck: We think he and his followers are on a small rural planet not too far from here. Fred: I’ll get right on it. Fred was leaning on a crate in the shadows of a market on his target planet, almost hidden by the tradesmen’s carts. His arms were folded across his chest, chin supported in one hand. And as the afternoon dwindled into evening he stood, silent and still. Watching. And waiting. Ah, he thought, what is this? He straightened and shook the rest from his muscles as he peered through the crates into the market. Traders were packing up. And something else was happening too. The game was afoot. In an alleyway not far from Fred lurked a follower of Grullo. He wore a tattered shooting jacket and a broken hat, and he was studying a pocket watch. Next he eased himself out of the alleyway, looked left and right and then made his way into the dying day of the market. As he walked, his shoulders hunched and his hands in his pockets, he glanced over his shoulder to check he wasn’t being followed and, satisfied, continued forward, entering a slum. The change in the air was almost immediate. Where before his boot heels had rung on the cobbles, now they sank into the ordure of the street, disturbing a stink of rotting vegetable and human waste. The pavements were thick with it, the air reeking. The follower pulled his scarf over his mouth and nose to keep out the worst of it. In the same moment the mist ahead of him billowed and striding out of it came an elephant-like figure, who before he could react had grabbed him and pulled his fist back as though to punch him. He had squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them it was to see Loxodonta behind the tusk that was held steady an inch from his eyeball. He wet himself. Loxodonta: Now, my friend, why don’t we start with you telling me your name? Follower: It’s Aion. The follower squirmed, the point of the tusk digging painfully into his flesh. Loxodonta: Good policy, the truth. Now, let’s you and me have a talk, shall we? Beneath him the fellow trembled. Fred took it as a yes. Loxodonta: Where can I find your leader? Aion: I … I don’t know... Loxodonta: You’re a worse liar liar than you seem. Loxodonta exerted a little more pressure with his tusk. Loxodonta: You feel where that tusk is now? Aion blinked his eyes yes. Loxodonta: That’s an artery. Your carotid artery. If I open that, you’ll be painting the town red, my friend. Well, the street at least. But neither of us want me to do that. Why ruin such a lovely evening? Instead, how about you tell me where I can find your leader. Aion: He’ll kill me if I do. Loxodonta: That’s as maybe, but I’ll kill you if you don’t, and only one of us is here holding a tusk at your throat, and it’s not him, is it? Loxodonta increased the pressure. Loxodonta: Make your choice, my friend. Die now, or later. Aion opened his mouth. Maybe he was about to give Fred the information he required. Or perhaps he was going to tell Fred where he could stick his threats. Or more likely it was to simply whine that he didn’t know. Fred never found out, because just as Aion went to reply, his face disintegrated. There was the sound of running feet, so Loxodonta wiped the shards of bone and bits of brain from his face, switched to Clobberilla, and then leapt for a wall. Feet only just gaining purchase on the wet brick, he shinned a drainpipe to the roof of a tenement, finding the light of the night sky and able to follow the running footsteps as the killer tried to make his escape. From below he heard the boots of the killer clopping and splashing on the cobbles and Clobberilla shadowed him quietly, unable to see the man but knowing he’d overtaken him. Coming to the edge of a building, and feeling he had a sufficient lead, he let himself over the side, using the sills to descend quickly, until he reached the street, where he hugged the wall, waiting. Seconds later came the sound of running boots. A moment after that the mist seemed to shift and bloom as though to announce this new presence, and then a humanoid mole, with a bushy moustache and thick side whiskers, came pelting into view. And though Free would later tell Professor Paradox that he struck in self-defence it wasn’t strictly true. Clobberillla had the element of surprise; he could – and should – have questioned him before killing him. Instead he engaged his fist and slammed it into the killer’s heart with a vengeful grunt and watched with no lack of satisfaction as the light died in the man’s eyes. And by doing that the Fred was making a mistake. He was being careless. Professor Paradox’s voice echoes in Clobberilla’s ear. Paradox: A shame then that you had to spill his blood. Presumably you needed to know more about him? Clobberilla reverts back to normal. Fred: This will make Grullo even hungrier for my blood. Fred stooped over the killer’s corpse. From his light armor he extracted a letter, which he opened and quickly scanned: It is with fear in my heart that I write this. Grullo has arrived. I feel it. The very birds don’t act as they should. They swirl aimlessly round the sky. I see them from my tower. I will not attend our council meeting as required, for I can no longer remain thus exposed in public view, for fear that the he may find me. Forgive me, but I must heed my inner voice. Timascus.